


Knocking Down These Buildings

by Asphyxiation (cat_in_my_hat)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College AU, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Marriage, Mentions of Panic Attacks, Physiotherapist!Bokuto, Pure Unadulterated Fluff, Timeskips, artist!akaashi, lets throw a little bit of Angst in there, sappy af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7318474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_in_my_hat/pseuds/Asphyxiation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keiji trails a finger down his cheek, wondering at the iridescence of his hair in the moonlight. </p><p>Or, a couple of moments that define Akaashi's and Bokuto's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knocking Down These Buildings

**Author's Note:**

> I had a different idea for this when I started to the beginning is a little out of tune with the rest of it oh well haha im too lazy to fix it :DDDDDDD  
> I went to a wedding recently and it made me feel sappy af so this was born ahhahahahahahahaha  
> I have a HC that Bokuto has an obsession w/hamsters and that they always fight about its name so that happened too ahahahahaaa  
> OK no it's late im tired I will be back to edit i swear (famous last words hahahahHAHAHAHAH)

 

They first meet in college. It doesn't go well.

It’s not unusual for Keiji to get invited to parties; he’s friends with Suga, who is practically platonically married to Sawamura who sleeps with Kuroo Tetsurou who throws at _least_ two huge parties a week (a confusing circle, he knows, but it makes _sense_ to some degree). Whilst he more often than not declines to engage in the sort of socialising that involves alcohol and bad decisions, something Kuroo’s parties are famous for, Suga (angelic, manipulative Suga) dragged him rather gracefully from his study with whines of, “ _I’m single and I need a wingman_ ,”.

This is how he ends up on a crowded lounge, more than a little tipsy and with some strange guy’s tongue down his throat.

Keiji isn’t a virgin, and he has kissed more times than he can count on two hands, but he doesn’t particularly know what he wants out of this encounter – he’s drunk, and without friends (he saw Suga disappear with Oikawa and Iwaizumi two hours ago and a text from him saying _Go home without me_ and he’s pretty sure Kuroo and Sawamura are shagging it up in the bathroom – much to the dismay of almost _everyone_ because they’re loud and gross and anything but convenient) and he’s straddling a strange guys hips on a couch filled with other strangers and is kind of tired. There’s a headache building behind his eyes and the drinks he had before are starting to wear off.  

He thinks about the stack of homework and study he has piled on his desk at home and knows that if he stays the night with this guy, he’s going to end up with a stale feeling in his mouth and won’t do any of it tomorrow. He’s tired, has work to do and is entirely done with this party.

Pulling away from the guys mouth, he presses his lips to his cheek in lieu of an apology, “Thanks,” he mumbles in the guys ear before getting up and moving away.

He feels a hand on his wrist when the front door comes into sight, and hears, “Wait up! I thought we were gonna...”

As he trails off, Keiji turns to him, “Fuck? I’m sorry, but I’m rather tired and would like to go now. Can you please let go of me?”

The guy licks his lips, “C’mon, babe. You just can’t leave a guy like this,” he gestures to his jeans, which are tented by a very obvious boner, “There’s a closet upstairs; I promise I’ll be quick.”

Keiji sneers, and is about to retort when someone grabs the guys hand where it holds Keiji’s. He sighs, aggravated and turns to the newcomer (suffering severely from knight-in-shining-armour syndrome) and whatever biting remark he has on his tongue dies because the guy has eyes that shine gold and he’s just _beautiful_ ; muscular in the right ways with a soft-but-masculine face. _And his eyes, Jesus Christ_.

“ _Hey, hey, hey_ , what have we here?” the guy says and suddenly Keiji doesn’t think the guy is that hot anymore because that one sentence was uttered in a booming voice that is just _obnoxious_.

Stranger guy and newcomer stare at each other for a second and the former lets Keiji go. Before he leaves though, he says, “I’m Terushima. If you want to meet up again, just ask around for me.”

Keiji really isn’t listening, and he turns to leave before he actually _hits_ someone when the new guy stands in his way, looking more concerned than someone so obviously intoxicated should, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Keiji sneers and says, “I’m fine. And unlike what you obviously think, I was completely in control of the situation.”

The man is visibly startled and takes a step back. Keiji takes this as his cue to leave and makes a third attempt to get out of the door when a large, warm hand grabs his arm, and hurried, “ _Wait_!” called and Keiji – being thoroughly done with this night and grabby people and shitty, horny friends – whirls around and slaps the guy as hard as he can. He glares at the golden eyed man, who clutches his quickly reddening cheek, hissing, “ _Don’t touch me_ ,” before he leaves.

He doesn’t look back.

 

He’s in his apartment with Suga sitting across from him, chewing on a pen thoughtfully, the infamous party three weeks in the past, and a taboo topic between the two of them; Suga doesn’t talk about the entirely faded bite marks on his neck and Keiji doesn’t talk about the ice pack he held to his hand for three days after he bitch slapped a guy that was only trying to help. (So, he feels a little guilty, but thinking about being guilty reminds him of vibrant gold eyes and biceps so perfectly formed that Keiji has had more than one weird dream since he saw them in person).

They have a bunch of textbooks spread on the coffee table between them; Keiji’s discussing abstract art theories and Suga’s discussing childcare and they are silent for the most part. Until Suga hits his head on the desk and rolls off of it with a groan.

Keiji looks at him, only mildly interested, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to study anymore,” Suga says, curling up on the floor.

Keiji pushes his textbook away and leans around the table to watch Suga pout, “What do you want to do?”

Suga rolls onto his back, “I need coffee.”

Keiji lets himself smile – Suga is cute, with his silver hair and over-sized sweaters but it’s his personality that draws people to him. He’s nice, down-to-earth and has just enough pessimism to make him bearable but not depressing. (If he weren’t so kinky, Keiji could’ve fallen for him). But he’s also sly, demanding and the singular most evil person that Keiji has ever met, which is how Suga manages to convince him to stop studying and brave the cold, wet weather to get them both coffee from the place three block from his apartment.

Keiji hates him sometimes. (Keiji hates everything sometimes).

“Welcome to Cats and Crows, what can I do for y- _oh_! Hey there, handsome,” Kuroo says from across the counter, looking ridiculous in a pink apron with cat ears perched on his bed head, “It’s been a long time since I saw you with your head out of a book.”

Keiji almost turns around to leave – he has to be in a certain _mood_ to deal with Kuroo being Kuroo and it’s really hard to take him seriously in those car ears – but he doesn’t because the next coffee shop is a half-hours walk away and he doesn’t want to walk that far in the rain.

He bites his lip and says in response, “You see me out of a book all the time. I do _art_. That would suggest that I paint as well,” he pauses, and adds, “What does Sawamura think about the cat ears?”

Kuroo grins, feral, and Keiji regrets the comment as soon as he says it, “ _Oh_ it’s _great_. He get’s this flush that comes from his neck,” He stretches against the counter, showing off his lean frame, “It makes it very _hard_ to get out of the door sometimes. It’s a real predicament.”

Keiji just stares at him, deadpan, “Or you could just put them on _after_ you leave the house. I’m sure it’s not imperative to wear them _all_ the time.”

Kuroo laughs, “What do you want, man? I’d say it’s on the house, but I live for turning you into the typical, poor, sleepless art student.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly, and places his order. Kuroo moves like an expert; Keiji hadn’t known that he worked here. Not that Keiji frequents the coffee shop or anything (stereotypes be damned, Keiji _hates_ coffee).

He’s watching Kuroo grab something from the top shelf when the door of the cafe swings open, and a loud, obnoxious, vaguely familiar voice calls out, “Kuroo? _Hey, hey, hey_ Kuroo!”

Kuroo turns around and his face lights up, “Bokuto, _bro_! What’s up?”

The newcomer bounces to the counter and slaps Kuroo’s hand harder than necessary for a high five. Keiji’s stomach sinks to his toes when he recognises the shock of silver-black hair and iridescent eyes as the guy he’d slapped just over three weeks ago. He keeps his head down in hopes that the other won’t notice him, and it works. Until Kuroo happened because, god forbid, Kuroo keep his mouth shut for once.

“Bo’, my bro, have you meet Akaashi?” He says, seemingly unaware of the way Keiji stiffens under the intense gaze of gold eyes.

There is a heavy silence as Bokuto’s eyes widen with recognition, and Keiji just kind of wants to die because under the cheap lightening of the cafe the gold in his eyes smoulders and – yeah, okay. That’s hot.

There’s an outburst of movement to his left and Keiji stifles the urge to flinch as Bokuto winds an arm around his shoulders (he also stifles thoughts about _muscles_ and how much Bokuto has them and how much Keiji _likes_ them), “Hey, hey, _hey_ , I know you!” He says and Keiji feels a little like a deer caught in headlights as Bokuto tells Kuroo, “We met at your party the other night!”

Keiji can _feel_ Kuroo thinking from behind the counter and winces internally. Kuroo is the master at assuming things about people – usually, he’s right – but with Bokuto’s arm around his shoulder and a definite nervous flush creeping up his ears, he knows, just _knows_ that by tomorrow, Suga is going to be questioning in his grandmotherly way – _‘So, what’s this I hear about a boy?_ ’ – because, _god forbid Kuroo keep his mouth shut_. (This seems to be a running issue. Maybe the root of all of his issues _is_ Kuroo.)

“Ohohoho, I didn’t hear about this, Bo’,” Kuroo sneers, gears turning behind his dark eyes as he studies the way Keiji skilfully manoeuvres himself out of the awkward embrace.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause he hit me!” He exclaims, puffing out his chest and hitting it with a closed fist, “It hurt like a bitch too.”

Keiji startles at the blunt honesty of the man, and says out of reflex, “That’s what you get for grabbing me.”

The response is instantaneous – Bokuto wails like a wounded bird and flails his arms around, “But _Akaashi_ ,” he says, “I was trying to _help_.”

Keiji just chuckles – taken with gold eyes and wide smiles he says, “I know. As thanks, perhaps I could...” he bites his lip slightly, stares as Bokuto watches his face with rapt attention, and he gathers all of his courage and says “I could treat you to coffee sometime?”

Bokuto’s face lights up and Keiji almost forgets about Kuroo watching them and about Suga sitting at his apartment waiting for him to return with coffee. (But none of that really matters in the face of gold eyes and wide smiles).

 

Their first kiss. It’s – It’s everything Koutarou wants and everything he never knew he needed.

(Not that he’d known that he needed Akaashi before he _had_ Akaashi but now, five coffee dates and three _official_ dates later he knows that Akaashi isn’t going anywhere if he has something to do about it).

Akaashi is holding his hand – and it feels so small and precious in his larger, tanner hands, but he knows, _has felt_ , how strong they can hit, and he loves how Akaashi is nothing how he appears. His long eyelashes and feminine features scream delicacy but he has a tongue sharper than a razor and eyes as cold as ice – and he loves it.

He’s leading Koutarou through his favourite park – a quiet groove of trees and a large sweeping hill that hides them away from the traffic that surrounds them – and showing him where he likes to draw (an old tree that looks as though it has survived a hundred life times, a spot at the pinnacle that shows him a view of the entire green space and that urban landscape behind it). They’re passing this one tree that has an abandoned birds nest sitting on one of the branches. Akaashi’s face lights up.

“Hold on, Bokuto-san,” he says, releasing his hand to grab out his phone, “I just want to take a reference photo. I would very much like to paint this later.”

Koutarou nods, and admires the way he bites his lip as he concentrates, getting high on his toes to get the best angle. He admires the way his nose curves graciously, the way his lips pout in glossy pink. The way his shirt rides up slightly, exposing a sliver of pale skin that Koutarou can’t tear his eyes away from. The silky look of his hair and the intense blue of his gaze; Koutarou wants to know all of it, all of Akaashi’s everything and he wants to make it his own.

Almost of its own violation, Koutarou’s arm worms its way around Akaashi’s waist, and pulls him close; close enough to smell the citrus of his shampoo where he tucks his head into the crook of Akaashi’s slender neck.

“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, resting his hand atop Koutarou’s where it lies on his stomach.

Koutarou replies with a kiss to the underside of his jaw; content just to stay there for the rest of the day. Akaashi, however, has another idea and wiggles around in Koutarou’s embrace, so that they’re face to face. Their lips meet, quick and soft – Koutarou doesn’t think that it even happened until he sees Akaashi going red around the ears.

He smiles, then, pulling Akaashi close for another peck on the lips.

 

Their first fight is not as monumental as Keiji seems to think it would be.

Suga is sitting in his living room and Bokuto is hovering around him in the kitchen. After three months of dating, Keiji’s pretty used to Bokuto being uncomfortably close during the most inopportune of times – when he’s brushing his teeth in the morning and when he’s trying to study. For the most part it doesn’t bother him has much as it probably should, but today Keiji really isn’t in the mood.

A failed assignment puts a damper on his already somewhat sour mood, which is multiplied by a missed bus and Bokuto’s insistent crowding and – _he just won’t shut up_.

“- Kuroo put the foil on his head and walked around like that _all night_. I swear, Akaashi, it was the funniest thing I’d ever seen. But, then there was this girl in class – ”

He feels a headache start throbbing at his temples and the stops cutting the carrots and check on the curry, with Bokuto pressing into his space all the while, never taking a breath. The curry, much to his dismay is burning and – _Bokuto hasn’t stopped talking_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, turning the heat off and looking at the disaster that once was edible food.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto questions, laying a hand on Keiji shoulder, “What’s up?”

It’s the last straw.

Slapping his hand away, Keiji rounds on him with a quiet fury and hisses, low and threatening, “Get out.”

Bokuto reels back, as though physically slapped, “ _What?_ ”

“You heard me, Bokuto-san, please _get out of my apartment_.”

His mouth flaps open and closed uselessly, and through the kitchen door, Suga squirms uncomfortably. The silence is tense and for a minute, Keiji thinks Bokuto might laugh it off as a joke, but he goes to open his mouth, to say what, Keiji doesn’t know, but he thinks better of it. Keiji watches as Bokuto’s entire body sags inwards, and says nothing as he leaves the apartment without so much as a good bye.

Suga is holding his tongue, Keiji can tell, and he looks up at him through weary eyes as well, “Do you want me to go as well?”

Keiji only sniffs, “You can stay if you order pizza.”

Suga only smiles, and picks up his phone.

It’s not until later, when they’re buried under a pile of blankets, a cold, half eaten cheese pizza between them and a shitty reality TV show on, does Suga say, “You should really apologize to Bokuto.”

Guilt clenches at his heart and he says, “I know.”

(They do make up, just a day later. Bokuto cries loudly and obnoxiously, but Keiji can’t find it in him to be annoyed, even if they are in public. They learn something new, from the experience, and Bokuto may forgive him, but he never forgets).

 

When they move in together, it happens impulsively.

They’re almost a year into their relationship when Koutarou realises that he hasn’t been to his own apartment in over a month. There’s been no need; he has clothes at Akaashi’s, mixed in with his laundry. His favourite game console is attached to Akaashi’s TV from a movie night they had months ago. There’s his physiotherapy textbooks mixed up with Akaashi’s on the coffee table, and his bleach and hair dye in the bathroom. He has a spare key to Akaashi’s place, along with a collection of his favourite movies in Akaashi’s bookcase.

There’s no reason to leave, especially when he can fall asleep with Akaashi’s body pressed against his in his ( _their_ ) bed.

He’s thinking about this while looking at a form for a renewed lease on his apartment. He knows that, logically, he should sign it and give Akaashi his space but – he hasn’t been home in over a month, and that was to get a movie that Akaashi hadn’t seen for a date night (that they were having at _Akaashi’s_ place).  He hasn’t stayed in his own house since Akaashi went to go see his parents for a weekend _three months_ ago. He wants, _so bad_ , to take the next step and move in but the majority of their fights, while infrequent and small, have been about Koutarou’s inability to recognise boundaries and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to mess this up.

He hears the door open, and Akaashi calls out, “I’m home,” and Koutarou feels is heart clench. _He expects Koutarou to be there, in his apartment._

“Welcome back,” he calls out on impulse, watching Akaashi walk into the living room, pulling off his scarf and placing over the back of a dining chair. He rounds the table and presses a quick kiss to the crown of Koutarou’s head, humming when he sees the paper Koutarou’s currently having a crisis about.

“What’s that?” he asks, and Koutarou hands him the paper over his shoulder, “Oh? A lease renewal,” he frowns and unconsciously rests a hand on Koutarou's shoulder.

Before Akaashi can say anything, Koutarou blurts, “Do you want me to sign it?”

Akaashi raises his eyebrows, “Do _you_ want to sign it?”

Koutarou gulps, musters all of his courage and says, “Not really. I mean – I haven’t been home in _weeks_. It’s a –”

“A waste of money, time and resources, yes,” Keiji smiles, joyful and gives Koutarou the paper, “I don’t want you to sign it, either, Bokuto-san.”

Koutarou is filled with warmth from the tips of his hair to the tops of his toes.

(A week later, he moves in officially and Koutarou can call this apartment _home_ )

 

They get their first pet in the winter of their second year together.

The idea comes from Bokuto, who excitedly talks about Kuroo and Sawamura’s pet cat and how much he wants a small _something_ to own together. Their landlord, when asked, says they can have something small – a rabbit or a bird, maybe, but Bokuto has his heart set on a hamster.

(And, although he likes to allude to otherwise, Keiji really can’t say no to Bokuto).

The pet store is crowded with children, and the biggest one is Bokuto, who attaches himself to a black and white hamster that sniffs timidly at the tips of their fingers through the cage.

“ _Akaashi_ ,” Bokuto starts, “ _I want it_.”

So they get it.

The ride home is filled with a series of excited noise from Bokuto that range from, “ _He’s so cute_ ,” to, “ _Akaashi, I swear, he’s so fluffy,”_  and Keiji can’t wipe the smile from his face.

(It’s not until later when they have a disagreement about his name when Keiji realises what he’s gotten himself into; Bokuto wants to call him _Broster_ and Keiji wants to call him Geoffrey and they can’t decide on one so they leave it for the night. It becomes a sore point among them for weeks).

 

The first time Koutarou lets Keiji dye his hair, it’s a disaster.

Not that Koutarou really has room to talk. The first time he bleached his own hair, it had gone a hideous shade of orange – that Kuroo has some very embarrassing photos of – but really. Keiji has the hands of an artist, steady even in the most pressing situations, but he somehow manages to get dye on the bathroom ceiling, and Koutarou’s not even _mentioning_ the mess on his ears and neck.

“I’m sorry Koutarou,” he says, pulling a dried clump of black dye from the midst of his drying hair. Koutarou just laughs him off – despite the mess to their bathroom, he can say with confidence that he hasn’t seen the black and sliver parts of his hair blended this well, like, _ever_.

“Don’t worry, Keiji,” he says, patting the other on his shoulder, “I’m sure it will look _fine_. The bathroom is another story, though,” and he laughs, loud and booming, because this, standing here in a mess of bleach, toner and black hair dye, Keiji has never looked more beautiful and Koutarou hasn’t ever been this close to perfection.

In the end, Koutarou’s hair comes out great, just as he knew it would, but the bathroom never really recovers.

 

When Keiji introduces Koutarou to his family just after their three year anniversary, he’s more than a little nervous.

Not because his family his particularly conservative, nor because they wouldn’t get along with Koutarou, but mostly because Koutarou is Koutarou and under stressful situations, Koutarou is clumsy. It’s endearing, really, but sometimes it’s more troublesome than cute.

“Keiji!” his mother greets as they step off the train, pulling Keiji into a hug, and he _feels_ more than sees Koutarou fidgeting by his side, “It’s been so _long_.”

“Hello, mother,” he says, pulling away from her embrace and gesturing to the ball of nerves beside him, “This is Bokuto Koutarou.”

His mother just laughs, “It’s nice to see you face to face, Kou-chan!”

Keiji just blinks as Koutarou replies, “Likewise, Akaashi-san! You’re just a pretty in person. Not as pretty as Keiji, though.”

He watches in awe as they both laugh and sends Koutarou a look that his mother replies to, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know, Keiji! Me and Kou-chan have been friends on Facebook for _months_.”

Keiji feels the tension drain from his shoulders as he watches his boyfriend talk effortlessly with his mother and wonders what he worried about in the first place.

(Later that night, when they’re squashed into Keiji’s childhood bed, with his teen sisters in futons on the floor, Keiji asks Koutarou about his family, because of all of the things Koutarou talks about, his family isn’t one of them.

“They – _ahhhh_. Well. They didn’t like my hair, my boyfriends, or my choices in general, really,” Koutarou says. “They told me not to come home when I left for college.”

Keiji trails a finger down his cheek, wondering at the iridescence of his hair in the moonlight, “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he says, pulling Koutarou closer, “They aren’t your family anymore.”

Koutarou snickers, “You’re right. You’re my family now.”

And they fall asleep, uncomfortably close on a ridiculously small bed and Akaashi would have it no other way).

 

 Keiji’s first exhibit is a big deal. For the both of them.

Keiji’s a nervous wreck and Koutarou knows he’s not doing much to help that, but he really can’t stop himself from fussing. It’s what he does best. They haven’t even left the door yet, but they’re both shaking, looking too young to be doing something so _old_ , but that’s just what Koutarou thinks.

“Kou,” Keiji says quietly, fidgeting, “Kou, I think we’ll be okay.”

Koutarou just laughs, taking in Keiji’s jeans-and-suit combo, “ _Hey, hey, hey_. You look gorgeous.”

Keiji snorts, pulling Koutarou closer to tuck his shirt in and fix his tie, “You would look just as good if you learnt how to properly dress yourself.”

He pretends not to notice the way Keiji’s hands shake where they rest at his throat, “I wouldn’t want to upstage the star, though.”

He gets a laugh for that, but Keiji feels more pliant in his embrace, so he counts it as a win.

 

Koutarou has seen most of the paintings from the exhibit itself, but it’s an entirely different experience to see them hung up around the gallery. He’s never felt prouder of someone in his entire life. Keiji paints for realism, and it shows in all of the pieces - from an empty birds nest sitting in an ageing tree to a painting of their apartment, messy with clothes and textbooks. They're all breathtaking, and Koutarou is  _proud_. 

(He feels satisfaction, too, when people compliment the artist, because it’s not just any artist, but _Koutarou’s_ artist).

Kuroo and Suga show up a little later and Koutarou hangs out with them while he watches Keiji mingle. At first he wants to stick himself to his boyfriend but decides against it. Keiji is a big boy and can handle it and Koutarou’s always there if he’s needed.

“Hey, Bo’,” Kuroo says, pointing to the only portrait in the entire gallery, “What do you think about this one?”

Koutarou blushes five shades of red, because the portrait is of _him_ , painted in hues of gold’s and silvers and blacks. Underneath, it’s entitled _Owls_ after Koutarou’s favourite animal, and he’s beyond amazed at the amount of effort that went into making his eyes as gold as they really are and his hair as unruly and brightly contrasted as it is in reality.

He can’t say this to Kuroo, though, so he says, “Ohohoho, the muse must be one handsome man!”

Across from the room, Koutarou can see Keiji smiling at him, and he smiles back.

 

They break up, briefly, after they graduate.

“You’re not serious, are you?” Keiji spits at Koutarou’s bowed figure in front of him, “You’re going to throw everything away, going to throw _me_ away for some job in Kyoto?”

Koutarou flinches at his words, “Come now, Keiji, I’m not – ”

“Don’t call me Keiji,” he seethes, “You knew months ago – _months ago_ – that you were going to Kyoto and you wait until a _day before you leave_ to tell me. Glad to know what I mean to you.”

“If I told you earlier,” Koutarou says, scrunching his face up in a way that says he’s trying not to cry, “I wouldn’t have been able to leave.”

Keiji sags, drained of anger, and brings his hands to his chest, “Then maybe you should stay?”

“This is a once in a lifetime job,” he says, “If I don’t take it I –I won’t get another chance like this. _Ever_.”

He – he clenches his eyes shut because if he looks at Bokuto now, then he’ll say something stupid. He feels a tear slide down his cheek, “Then leave.”

It feels so much like their first fight, but this. There’s no coming back from this.

“I’m sorry –”

“ _Get out_.”

He doesn’t look up, but he hears the door close softly and his heart shatters into a million pieces when he realises what he’s done.

 

There’s a month of silence in which Keiji goes about his life on autopilot. He hasn’t heard anything about Bokuto – it’s a taboo subject among his friends and even _Kuroo_ knows not to bring it up. He stays in the apartment only because he has another three months until the lease is up, but he spends most of his time at Suga’s place. He only goes back to sleep and feed Geoffrey ( _God he misses the way they would fight about his name_ ), and even then, the memory of Bokuto sleeping next to him is enough to make him cry.

He’s never really alright, after they break up.

He’s at Suga’s place when Kuroo sends him a message; _Dude, drop what ur doing and come to mine ASAP_.

“Well,” Suga says, handing one of his boyfriends a cup of tea, “Sounds urgent.”

“Go, shoo, Aka-chan,” Oikawa says, sticking his tongue out from behind Suga’s back.

Keiji just shrugs and leaves, glad that Kuroo’s apartment is only a fifteen minute walk from Suga’s.

When he gets there, both Sawamura and Kuroo are standing outside, and Keiji thinks he’s justified in his suspicion. He doesn’t get to say much before he’s manhandled into the apartment ( _Jeez_ , _Sawamura is_ buff) and the door is locked behind his back.

“Don’t have sex anywhere, please,” Sawamura requests politely and Keiji has never felt more perplexed in his life. "We'll be back in an hour."

“What?” he asks, just as a familiar voice behind him says, “Kuroo? Where’s the pizza?”

He freezes. Behind him, Bokuto makes a noise. Keiji can’t make himself turn around, so he stays faced towards the door. He knows that Bokuto is there, can _hear_ him fidgeting, and the silence is so heavy that Keiji can feel it ringing in his ears. His heart is beating loudly, painfully, because, _god he missed that voice_. He grabs at his chest, trying to make it _stop_ because it hurts _so_ bad.

“Kei-Akaashi?” Bokuto says, and the way he’s addressed, _it hurts_. He knows he’s gasping for air, because he really can’t breathe, and his heart hurts and everything is spinning and it’s painful.

 “Bokuto-san,” he gasps, “Bokuto – Kou. I – _It hurts_.”

“Oh, _shit_ , Christ,” He hears Bokuto swear, but he’s not really paying attention because _Bokuto is here_ and he can’t really deal with that, so he slides into the foetal position and only moves to grab the glass of water that Bokuto hands to him.

He stays like that, curled up, with Bokuto making soothing sounds and tentatively rubbing circles in his shoulder.

When he’s calmed down enough, he asks Bokuto, “What are you even doing back here?”

Bokuto coughs, flushing red around his ears, “I – _uhhh_ , well. Didn’t like Kyoto. So I moved back.”

Keiji feels his heart clench, but it isn’t painful, but hopeful, instead, “What’s wrong with Kyoto?”

Bokuto looks at him, and the gold in his eyes is just a bright as Keiji remembers, “I threw away someone very important to get there. And I missed them.”

He sniffs, and wipes the tears from his eyes before he grabs one of Bokuto’s hands and says, “I can’t forgive you straight away.”

Bokuto just rubs soothing circles into the back of his hand but smiles wetly, “I know.”

(A week later Bokuto moves back in, and just two weeks after that, it’s like he never left).

 

They get their first house when Keiji fills the living room with canvases.

Koutarou wants one in a suburb, away from the city, and they settle on a western style home, with a large yard and three bedrooms. It takes a day to move in, but their possessions hardly fill the space, so it takes another three weeks of trips to department stores to actually _fill_ the space.

After it’s all done, Koutarou sits on their new couch and watches as Keiji fusses around the living room, decorating it.

“ _Hey, hey, hey_ ,” Koutarou exclaims when Keiji walks in front of him, pulling him by the waist to collapse on his lap, “It looks perfect, yeah?”

Keiji just huffs, pulling at Koutarou’s ear, “Nothing can be perfect, Koutarou. I just want it to look good.”

Koutarou nudges into Keiji’s pale neck and leaves a kiss there, “It does look good. When did Suga say they were gonna get here? Kuroo said they’d be here at seven.”

Keiji turns in his lap, curling into his chest, “Suga said that Oikawa was having a diva moment and that Iwaizumi isn’t going to be home to beat it out of him until seven, so they might be late.”

Humming, he strokes Keiji’s hair back from his face and says, “I’m happy.”

 He gets a raised eyebrow for that, "Happy that Oikawa's going to get hit? I mean, I don't like him either but -"

Koutarou laughs, "No, silly. I'm just happy. I'm happy here with you."

Keiji just smiles, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips, "Me too." 

 

Koutarou proposes on their sixth anniversary.

They don’t do anything big, just order Chinese takeout and make out like horny teenagers in the living room. It’s late at night, and Keiji has his head resting on Koutarou’s lap, dosing off to _Ten Things I Hate About You_ playing on the TV.

He’s almost asleep when Koutarou says, out of the blue, “Marry me.”

Keiji doesn’t get a ring. He doesn’t get a long speech or a public display of love, but he doesn’t need it. All he needs is this.

“Yes,” he says, crawling up Koutarou’s body to kiss him senseless, “Yes.”

 

They get married in summer.

The event is big, not because Koutarou means it to be, but because they have a _lot_ of friends and Keiji’s family must breed like rabbits because he _swears_ half of the guests are related to his fiancée _somehow_.

(Ha. Fiancée. _It never gets old_. Well. Until he gets to call Keiji _husband_ that is).

He’s be lying if he said he isn’t disappointed when his parents don’t come, but he didn’t really expect them to anyway, but he’s overjoyed when he spots his uncle mingling among the guests.

Koutarou thinks Keiji looks stunning as he’s walked up the isle; his black suit is form-fitting and the gold of his tie complements his skin well. He feels a little self-conscious then, standing next Keiji’s handsome beauty, in his own light gray suit.  When Keiji makes it to him, he _tsks_ and straightens Koutarou’s navy tie. (The guests laugh at this, and Koutarou flushes red).

He cries during the ceremony, so much so that Kuroo has to let him sob into his suit’s handkerchief, but its okay because he sees Keiji tear up at some points as well, just not as loudly.

It’s the greatest day of his life.

 

It’s not their first holiday away, but to Keiji, it’s their most memorable.

Koutarou is running around in the sand, looking all of twelve years old, even though he’s twenty-six and married.

“Kou?” Keiji calls from under their umbrella, book half-read and forgotten at his side, “Kou?”

Koutarou comes bounding up to him, sliding on the sand next to Keiji, and immediately invading his space. A hand on his thigh, a shoulder against his, and – he loves it, even though it can drive him mad sometimes, loves Koutarou, even though he drive him mad sometimes.

“When we get back, we should get a dog,” he says, picking the sand out of Koutarou’s hair and watching as Koutarou shakes with excitement before tackling Keiji into the sand

“Really? Aw, _man_ , Keiji, you’re the _best_ ,”  he says, squeezing Keiji’s waist and burying his face in his shoulder. “I love you.”

Keiji smiles, content, “I love you too.” 

 

~Fin


End file.
